


Poor Royal Bastard

by fightmecorypheus (alex_archer)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, In the Fade, The Fade, fade death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3752962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_archer/pseuds/fightmecorypheus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is just your basic alistair feels and death fic. c'mon read it. you know you want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poor Royal Bastard

Fingers clawed at the ground in front of him, growing weaker with every pull. He slowly inched further up the hill. His blood seeped into the sand ground of the Fade, leaving a thick line trailing behind him. His other arm was curled awkwardly close to him in an estranged attempt to prevent himself from bleeding out faster. With every lurch forward, the Rift in the sky grew further away.

“Come on, Alistair. You can do this. Wouldn’t want them to think you’re not the same Warden who helped defeat the Archdemon, and bravely at that!” He goaded himself. His wound twinged with pain and he could feel his chest throb. He cursed himself and his tendency for unnecessary long winded comments. Looking back for a moment, he caught the sight of the nightmare. Its legs were slow moving, trying to get itself back up to follow him. How Alistair had managed to wound it so was beyond him. He thought, and he still hoped, that if he had been able to kill it, he would be able to escape.

When the Inquisitor had turned to face Hawke and him, Alistair knew. He knew that the Wardens had done this, and a Warden needed to finish it. He had sacrificed himself once more for the Order. But now, his thoughts were of his Warden. She was out there, somewhere in Thedas, looking for a way to save both of them. If he never made it back home, then he had failed her.

“Maker, don’t give up,” Alistair was determined. He returned his gaze back to the Rift, and his heart sunk. The green light had grown smaller, or had it? Was he imagining the disappearance of his only hope?

His grip on the ground before his became more frantic, “No. No… It can’t. Maker, please. No…” He pleaded for more time, for the distance between them to shorten.

His body flipped around and he called out in pain as his broken shield arm collided with the ground. He was turned over to face the monstrous nightmare before him.

“Poor little, Alistair. Always left alone, always forced to face his problems alone. Poor little, Alistair. A pathetic child who can’t fix anything. Poor. Little. Alistair,” The monster’s words cut into him like a knife, the very things that Alistair feared most.

“You can’t wound me, not any more than you already have,” his defenses were hollow.

“Oh, but I can. A fatherless, motherless bastard who doesn’t belong anywhere. A child left alone in the world, forced into so many roles. So many shoes he couldn’t fill. He was too inadequate. You couldn’t even die correctly, I will prevail,” the nightmare pinned Alistair underneath its legs, bending and crushing the already ruined armor that Alistair wore. “You see, I know you Alistair, far better than anyone, even yourself. As a Warden, nightmares are not new to you. I have visited you nearly every night. You know everything I spoke was nothing but the truth.”

He did know. He knew that he had failed in so many places. He was just as broken as everything else in this world. He had so many fears and anxieties, and he far too often let them conquer him. But now, lying on his back at the mercy of this beast, he knew that his fears were nothing compared to those of the creature above him. Yet still, he felt his own fear growing, threatening to consume him. He fought against it, willing it to disappear, knowing that he would never be able to. But, he had done it before. He’s fought Darkspawn and demons. He had fought at Ostegar, fought to light the beacon. He was a part of the rescue of Redcliffe, and he was there when they recovered a Paragon in Orzammar. He even defeated a pack of werewolves, saving an entire Dalish clan. There were so many things in his past, so many shared memories with those he loved. He began to bring them forward, the successes.

It was then that he felt a warmth rise through his body, as though a light were making its way up. A smile grew across his face and he allowed a slight chuckle to leave his lips. Baffled by his sudden change in disposition, the Nightmare above him seemed to growl. Alistair just continued. He thought of Eamon, of Redcliffe. He thought of his friends, his fond memories. Most of all, he thought of her. She became the only image in his mind. She consumed him and she fueled him. He would fight, fight to return and find her, as though his life depended on it. In a way, it did. She was his life and she was his strength.

With this newfound stamina, Alistair fought to break his way free of the Nightmare’s pinning. He wriggled and shook, finally working free his still good arm. While he had managed to free his sword arm, it was at the cost of his already compromised breastplate.

The monster’s pointed appendage broke through the metal and slid through his chest. Alistair screamed, feeling his ribs break and his lung collapse. Using the pain and the rush of adrenaline, he drew his short sword and swung it wildly. It sliced through the Nightmare’s leg and the creature wailed in pain, pulling back and off him. In response, Alistair let forth a blast of Templar magic, pushing the monster further back.

While the Nightmare was exposed, Alistair saw it, the weak spot on the underbelly of the demon. Maker willing, I do this for the Wardens. Alistair pulled his arm back and let loose his last weapon. He called out as the force sent a rack of pain shooting throughout him. He kept his eyes on the blade soaring towards the Nightmare. His gaze waivered not, and he watched as it landed directly in his target. The steel pierced the thick hide of the demon and went straight through its heart. Do demons even have hearts? Alistair mused to himself what should have been a thought that occurred to him before he attempted the impossible.

The Nightmare screamed, its voice shrill and frantic. Its legs began to search for a more secure stance, but they just kept giving out underneath it until it finally gave in. The main body of the creature fell, colliding with the ground with such force that the ground ruptured beneath it. The cracks spread out from the impact and Fade energy burst up through them. The Nightmare’s body began to fracture as well, falling apart as though it were ash in the wind. The body dissolved into a green cloud and poured into the rifts below it, marking the death of the Nightmare.

Alistair finally looked down at his torso, seeing the remnants of the monster’s leg disappear from his wound. Under all the blood, it was difficult to discern one wound from the other. He decided to just press his able hand to the place that hurt most, and his plan was successful. He let out a cry as the pressure increased the pain in his chest. After the curt strain on his torso, a sigh escaped his lips as relief set in.

He looked to the sky, his eyes settling on the great green rift looming above him. He smiled at the thought that his friends and loved ones were just on the other side. Yes, it was true that they were probably not directly on the opposite side of the rift, but Thedas was waiting. His home was waiting for him to return. His many choices in life led him here. Would it have been different had he accepted the crown thrust at him? Or if he had refused and rebelled against Anora’s rule? Ferelden was most definitely better off now that he would die.

“Do not think such things, Alistair,” a familiar voice wretched Alistair’s attention away from the rift. He frantically searched for the source of the words.

“Duncan?” He called out weakly.

“Yes, Alistair, it is me,” the voice seemed to come from one distinct place and yet all around him at once.

“Is this a trick of the fade? A cruel one, at that,” Alistair’s heart beat faster, hoping that this was not a trick.

“No, Alistair. This is no trick, nor a nightmare. This is the Fade, and I am here to once more help you pass on through a life changing trial,” Alistair burst into laughter, cringing at the sharp pain in his chest.

“Life changing? Yes, death will do that to a person,” he closed his eyes to focus on the voice and was caught off guard when another joined Duncan’s.

“My Alistair, always making light of things,” a woman’s voice chorused in and Alistair’s eyes burst open once more. He raised slightly and twisted if only to get sight of her once more.

“Maker, no. You can’t be here. You- You’re in Thedas… You’re searching for a cure,” Alistair’s words fell flat as his worst fears were confirmed.

“Alistair, I am with you. I will always be with you,” the Warden’s voice trailed away and his heart ached.

“No, my rose, don’t leave,” Alistair fell back to the ground, his vision beginning to cloud. A darkness grew at the edges.

“I am not leaving, don’t worry. I’ll be here for you, forever,” The black threatened to cover his view, the only thing breaking through was the fading green light of the rift. The Fade then took away his last hope at life when the breach closed. Green energy dissipating and clearing from his vision, finally allowing the darkness to cover him completely. He closed his eyes slowly, and the last thing to pass across his lips was a smile with faint words passing through, “I love you.”


End file.
